Mirror Mirror
by HC0
Summary: Putting beauty into the eye of the beholder.


**Disclaimer: **_**Wicked**_** and all its accompanying everythings are the creation and property of Gregory Maguire.**

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"Trying to see your future?"

Fiyero jumped at the sound of Elphaba's voice and turned away from the glass, sheepishly. "Not really."

She smiled, and propped herself up on one arm. "I never took you for the vain type," she said. "But I suppose if your precious princely hair—" She ducked as he lobbed his pants at her.

"Shut up. Your stupid mirror is too scratched up anyway. I don't even know how you use it."

Her smile dropped a bit. "I don't. I never use mirrors."

"What?" He laughed and went to sit by her. "What kind of a woman do you call yourself?"

"A poor one?"

He rolled on top of her and smothered her with his mouth. "No…wonderful."

She pushed him away, gently. "I just don't like mirrors. I know how I look already, and I don't need to be reminded of it."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I mean I know I'm not pretty (and there's no need telling me I am) and I'd rather not see it if I can help it."

"You're not ugly."

"I told you not to say that."

"No, really!" He _was_ desperately in love with her, but that wasn't all. "You're beautiful, Elphaba. Not traditional beautiful, like Glinda or the other girls—beautiful in your way. It's different, it's unique, it's you."

"I may not use mirrors, but I've had the misfortune to catch sight of myself in shop windows and I think I can conclusively say, Fiyero, that I am not _beautiful_ by any stretch of the imagination. I can't even make it to _handsome_."

"You make it past that," he said. "Everything about you…your hair, your eyes, your face, all of you…" He kissed her features as he spoke of them and held her body and she pushed him away again.

"_Stop."_

"I don't want to."

"You see, this is the problem in our relationship: that you—"

"The only problem in our relationship is that I can't find a flaw in you."

He could almost _hear_ her eyes rolling, but he also saw how she had to bite back a smile. "You do know that's stupid, don't you? Nobody's perfect, Yero, and you seem to be blind."

"Which scares me," he confessed. "I've never felt this way before."

"Horny?"

"Elphaba, please. Do you know how much I love you?"

"At least once a night."

"Stop it!" he said angrily. "The sex is great, but it doesn't define what you're worth to me. I love you, Elphaba. So much it's frightening, and you're beautiful—"

Something in her seemed to shrink. "Please…" she left the sentence unfinished.

"Yes?"

"Never mind."

"Something?"

"Fine!" She sat up. "Shut up about my looks."

He canted his head and raised an eyebrow and looked so endearing that a smile fought its way to the surface. "Not saying anything…" And he elaborated no more.

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When he came that night he brought with him a package in brown paper.

"What's that?"

"I'm happy to see you too."

She wrapped the blanket around herself and walked over to kiss him. "I love you and I'm happy to see you. Now sate my curiosity."

He raised a finger. "Now, you promise me you won't kick me out?"

She couldn't think of anything so bad. "I swear."

He handed her the package and she unwrapped the paper.

It was a mirror.

She quickly put it away from herself on the table. "Fiyero, I don't know what type of foolish idea this is, but it's foolish."

"So maybe it is. But I wanted to see if it would work. I want to see if I can make you see what you really are, not just what everyone says. Now, because it won't kill you, look."

Something in his voice won her over, and so she steeled herself and peered cautiously into the glass.

There she was, not looking much different, and she started to turn away. But there was another face at her shoulder, brown and blue, and she realized with a start that her green, the long-hated green she'd been taught to despise, complemented Fiyero's coloring perfectly. Amongst the other people she'd known, with their pale white or pink skin, Elphaba Thropp in all her greenness had just been like an unfortunate item on a store rack that clashes with everything. But not with Fiyero. Together, they were—dare she even think it?—beautiful.

Fiyero saw the look that spread across her face and smiled. "You see it?"

No, no, you and I together—gorgeous. You—the same. I—not. "You're distracting the image. Move away."

He obliged. "Now do you see?"

"Now I see only myself, and I am reminded of why I hate mirrors."

"Elphie, concentrate. Your eyes, then. Look at your eyes."

To please him, she looked. They were lovely eyes. Nicely shaped, good color.... "And out of place here."

"The rest of your face, piece by piece."

She did it quickly, and saw what he meant. "So I have some decent features. But they don't look nice all put together."

He took the mirror gently from her hand and set it aside. Then he sat down beside her and asked her, "Elphie, who's ever said anything about how you looked?"

"Everyone."

"I thought you don't give shit what Everyone says."

"I give shit in this matter."

"So why can't you give shit to my opinions?"

"Because they're only yours. And they're—"

"They're my own," he said. "Elphaba, nobody can decide if you're pretty but _you_. I mean, I say you are, but that doesn't mean anything in context to you."

She thought about that that night, and much later, when Fiyero was asleep, she reached out and took the mirror. In the moonbeams seeping through the skylight, she looked at herself again. Interesting: the mirror seemed to be magic. She still recognized herself, but something seemed different. The way her hair tumbled around her shoulders made her face softer; the eyes had a new sparkle; the lips were fuller; the green of her skin seemed to glow.

She _was_ pretty.

She must be dreaming, Elphaba concluded, and she put the mirror aside and closed her eyes.

Once he was sure that she was asleep, Fiyero opened his own eyes and traced the smile still on her face. He felt himself to be largely ineffectual as a rule, but now he felt quite accomplished.

Elphaba mentioned nothing the next day, but when she thought he wasn't looking Fiyero noticed her pick up the mirror and look into it. He saw her eyes go wide, and he risked turning around. She looked up at him and smiled.

"So?"

"It still works," she said wonderingly, and looked into the mirror again.

She didn't elaborate, but she had a new line that she delivered when he came every night: _Make me pretty._

And he did, because when she didn't think he saw she snuck glances into the mirror, and whatever magic he made was still there.

In the eye of the beholder. Well.

THE END

**For those of you that like happy endings, stop here. For those of you with a taste for angst, keep going. **

**But you'll all keep reading anyway out of curiosity, won't you?**

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**You have been warned…**

The Gale Force trashed the room when they killed him, and her things were scattered all over. So when she dropped to her knees beside his cooling body, fighting back a wave or horrible nausea, the mirror was lying next to him. It had never failed in the past, and now she grabbed at the handle in desperation, to see herself beautiful.

But what she saw—wild, tangled hair; scald marks down the face where tears were rolling; blood, blood, blood, blood everywhere there was his blood she'd shed; every part of her face twisted into an eternal, wordless keening.

She slammed her fist into the mirror, letting the shards drive into her skin and not caring, because whatever had made the magic had bled away.

THE OTHER END

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I found a completely unrelated picture on deviantART that I think matches the story beautifully. With the permission of the artist, I give thee:**

**http://zirofax(dot)deviantart(dot)com/art/Mirror-Mirror-Wicked-47342794**


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